Against Heart and Soul
by CathryForever
Summary: This is a quick one-shot, exploring what might have been going through Catherine's mind from the scene in Season 1, episode 14 (Dirty Laundry) where Henry asks Catherine to stay with him and she decides not to. I was so moved by the silent scene later on, of Catherine on her own, looking so empty and lonely (cover image photo), that I wanted to fill the gap between those scenes.


**AN:** **So this is actually the first fan fiction I ever wrote, though I published the other two first. Finally getting around to publishing it! :) It's just a quick one-shot, and I remembered it today when I watched this scene again, and decided to post it. My heart just breaks for my Cathry!**

"Stay with me," came his whisper in the stone hallway, his eyes searching hers. Instinct had taken over, and almost involuntarily she had kept him from leaning in for the kiss she longed for, and told him, "Henry. Don't ruin it."

Walking away from him, seconds seemed to slow down and become minutes as the distance between them increased with each step.

The world seemed to whirl, and she all but staggered as she forcefully placed one foot in front of the other. He wanted her. He had asked her to stay with him. She had known it was coming. His manner as they walked together, and the tone of his voice. It was… so refreshing, to be light-hearted and to enjoy one another's company for those moments. Once he had begun praising her, and speaking of her above other women, she knew. For just that moment, barely more than a second or two, she had allowed the warmth of his words to soothe her heart like a balm, accepting and basking in his praise. Without allowing her facial expression to betray it, she allowed herself to believe, for just a fragment of time, that he valued her above all other women. But she was well practiced, and experience had trained her heart. After that moment, her war-torn heart had steeled, ready for the onslaught of emotion that would come with his request. A door open to her, one at which she had been standing while it had been firmly closed for so long; one that she longed to enter, more than he would ever know. He waited, standing by the door he had so sweetly opened for her, hoping, WILLING her to step through with him.

But she couldn't. And it almost tore her apart to put up that barrier, to lay her hand on his chest as he leaned in to kiss her, and stop him. Fear of the pain of raw vulnerability kept her afloat as she went against her very heart and soul, and turned from the one thing she had longed for in so many years, but now that she had stepped past him and left him behind her, the ache of leaving him – leaving the chance to embrace, and be embraced; to love, and be loved again – almost prevented her from holding herself upright, let alone keeping her feet moving.

She willed herself forwards. _Keep going. Keep going. Don't look back, you can't look back. Just keep going. It's for the best._

But WAS it the right thing? How could she know? It seemed the safest and most sensible solution, one that would spare her the most pain. All of a sudden she was unsure. Had she made a terrible mistake?! Perhaps she should just turn back, right now, this second. Was he watching her go? Did he look angry? Hurt? Remorseful? Indifferent? Would it make a difference if she saw one of those emotions in his eyes? Suddenly she was struck with an urge to see his eyes, to read them and know what her choice had brought about in him as a result. Maybe she should make sure, just to confirm that what she had chosen was the best thing to do….

 _But no, Catherine – no. I know you want to. I know you love him. I know you want him. I know you long to be loved by him. But he won't – he can't. Hoping and longing will only hurt more if you don't keep your heart locked down and out of sight. Keep going. Don't look back. Head high. One foot in front of the other… That's right, keep going._

The corner turned and, his presence removed, she forced her focus on her chambers. Two more corridors. The sound of her heels on the stone floors echoed off the walls in a steadying rhythm, as she made progress in the pursuit of her sanctuary. The doors in sight at last, she barely acknowledged her guards as they afforded her entrance and closed her in once again, as safe as she could be in her own company. Her shoulders sagged with relief as she paused momentarily against the heavy wood of the doors.

Suddenly the silence of her own space was deafening. Loneliness overwhelmed her, and there was no way to escape it, no pursuit available to dull its sharpness. Crossing the room swiftly, she made her way out to her balcony, hoping for the cool evening air to wash over her, and afford her some relief from the airlessness of the moment.

Standing on the balcony, the air seemed as absent here as it had been inside the stone walls. She breathed steady, looking out beyond the castle walls and across the countryside beyond, a gentle twilight beginning to settle over the landscape and darkening the woods against the green surrounding hills. Memories of happier times with her Henry in those hills and woods flooded her – she could almost hear the echo of her own laughter as he rolled her in the sea of wild poppies, tickling her until she was breathless. She could almost feel his very touch, the pads of his fingers warm and gentle against her skin, tracing the contours of her face, neck and shoulders, his breath soft and steady against her hair as she leaned back into his embrace to watch the sun set from their picnic blanket in the grass. She remembered the sky painted like a canvas in glorious pinks and oranges, and seeing the beauty of nature's display soften into the mauves and indigos of dusk as they made love beneath the emerging stars.

The ache as she returned from her thoughts to the greys of the balcony and of her feelings, was overwhelming. She felt empty and alone, with no hope, at that moment, of relief. The sadness that washed over her was too hollow to allow tears to form. Here, she could allow her mask to drop, away from the eyes of French court. She could relax the muscles of her face and allow her brokenness to be seen. Sometimes the mask weighed too much to keep it on, and there was some relief in removing it, even if it meant letting her burden engulf her.


End file.
